


Things Remembered

by gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-07-13 21:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7138175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of things that were said. Short fics inspired by <a href="http://gaslightgallows.tumblr.com/post/145620636502/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a">this Tumblr post. </a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. things you said after you kissed me (Rosie/OC)

**Author's Note:**

> The pairings/ratings/tags of these short fics vary widely, so I'll list subject matter/tags in the individual chapter notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1917: Rosie takes a lover in her husband's absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by omgimsarahtoo.
> 
> Tags: sexual content, oral sex, secret relationships, extramarital affairs, guilt

"I know we shouldn't," David murmured, his dark eyes very large and sad and his lips still only a breath away from Rosie's own, which burned with the impression of his sweet, soft kiss, and her cheeks burned as well, with how much she had wanted it... with how much she still wanted it. "I'll... I'll go—"

"No." She pulled his mouth to hers and pushed all thought of Jack from her mind, just for a few moments more.

It should have felt wrong, to be wrapped in a passionate embrace with one of Jack's fellow police officers, but the only thing Rosie had the room to feel was the need to be held, and David's arms were strong and his hands on her back were gentle, and his mouth felt so, so good...

"Rosie..."

She blinked back tears and curled up tightly against his side as they sat together on the sofa in the living room of her and Jack's house.

David brushed his lips across her hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I'm not," Rosie replied, her voice tight with tears. "I'm not sorry, I only wish... I wish I knew what to do."

He breathed a laugh. "Me too."

They sat like that for a long time, trembling with the nearness of one another, as the fire slowly died. It took all of Rosie's self-control and every memory of Jack's body against hers to keep her from taking David by the hand and leading him to her bed. He was beautiful, gentle, kind and attentive, and he was _there_ , and she was so lonely, and Jack—dear Jack was somewhere overseas.

"I-I want you, David," she said at last, her skin on fire below her thin cotton dress.

He let out a shaky breath. "I want you, too."

Neither of them moved.

"I want you, David, but I... I don't think I can..."

"You shouldn't," he replied, finding her hand and squeezing it gently. "We shouldn't."

Rosie closed her eyes against the tears. "I love him, David, but he's been gone so long... and if he doesn't come back--"

"He will. But... if he doesn't come back, Rosie... Christ, it feels so callous of me, but... Rosie, w-would you consider... if the worst happens, and after you take the time you need... would you marry me?"

The tears came, unforgiving and harsh. Somehow, she managed a "Yes!" in reply. "I'm sorry," she stammered, accepting his handkerchief. "I... that was not a very gracious reply to a marriage proposal."

David smiled gently, his eyes still sad. "It's not a very gracious situation." He wiped some tears from her cheek and then leaned in for another kiss. It felt less furtive this time, more of a promise. "I should go. It's getting late."

"David." She caught his sleeve and then could not speak, her heart thumping loudly in her ears. "Will... will you stay with me tonight?"

Now he seemed speechless. "But... I thought...?"

"I don't mean to... fornicate," Rosie explained, the blush finally finding her cheeks. "But I feel so strange and... I need to feel you, David. Please."

He looked at her for a long time. "I want to," he said, at last. "But... I don't know if I could be trusted to keep my hands to myself."

She took a deep breath. "You don't have to."

They tried to be chaste. They did... at least David did, Rosie thought later, always more charitable towards her lovers than she seemed able to be to herself. She changed in the bedroom while David retreated to the bathroom. She wore a nightgown; he wore a pair of Jack's pyjama bottoms (the shirt wouldn't fit around David's wide shoulders). They climbed into bed and David blew out the lamp, and for a minute or two they lay demurely beside one another in the near-complete darkness.

Then Rosie turned and curled up beside him, pressing her body to his side. They both gasped; the heat of her against his skin and vice versa made it seem as though there was nothing between them at all. David rolled onto his side to pull her closer, and when he reached for her his fingers grazed the cloth covering one of Rosie's full, aching breasts.

"God forgive me," he all but sobbed, and fell upon her.

Her nightgown seemed to disintegrate in the fire that burned between them. His hands on her breast and then his _mouth_ were almost too wonderful for her to bear, and she couldn't help arching her hips up and grinding her mound against his erection, barely contained behind the thin cloth of his pyjama trousers. "Oh Christ," he moaned helplessly, dropped his head to her breastbone.

Rosie stroked his thick brown hair softly while he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm. "I wish I could have been inside you," David whispered hoarsely against her skin.

"I know, my darling... I know." She wanted him there, badly. She wanted his cock filling her to the hilt, stretching her hungry wet flesh, each stroke driving her higher and higher until she felt like she was flying. But what they were doing was sinful enough. That was one step she would not take, even if it was a pointless distinction, as far as her husband would be concerned.

When David had caught his breath, he left the bed briefly to clean himself. When he returned, he was as naked as she was. Her hands went to his groin, stroking him gently, but he put her caresses aside. "Let me touch you," he pleaded.

So instead, Rosie guided his hands to the apex of her thighs, and lost herself to the feeling of unfamiliar fingers touching her from the inside. Then she felt his tongue hesitantly tasting her intimate flesh, and gasped sharply. "Yes, David, _yes!_ "

And then she was falling, blissfully and serenely, into the warm even deeper darkness of climax.

As though from far away, she felt David move up her body. She felt his cock, hard and throbbing eagerly, between her thighs. And she decided that if he ignored her decision and fucked her, she would not struggle, she would not object. She would throw him out of the house afterward and damn him for betraying her trust, but she wanted him inside her so _badly_ —

Rosie came sharply to her senses. "David," she said, quiet but firm, placing her hand on his chest. "No."

"I know," he said huskily. "I know, I wasn't going to... I wasn't. I just... you're so warm..."

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he had a French letter in his billfold. The ANZACs had all been provided with prophylactics to protect them from the diseases that foreign whores carried, and the city had been flooded with government-issued condoms. But sex with a condom was still another man who wasn't her lawful husband having his way with her.

Carefully, Rosie slid out from beneath him. David collapsed onto the mattress, breathing heavily. "I'll... I have to use the loo," he muttered, hurrying away before Rosie could offer to touch him, to relieve him.

She pulled the disarrayed sheets into as much order as she could in the dark and waited for him to come back. She tried not to imagine David fisting himself to orgasm, and tried also to not feel upset that she had not been allowed to do it for him.

When he came back, David took an extra pillow and shoved it down under the sheets between them. "Just in case," he said, his voice sleepy and sheepish.

And Rosie was overwhelmed with the kindness of this man, who wanted her so much, but who would not touch her anymore than she thought proper. "I... I think I love you," she whispered, stroking his arm.

He let out a contented little sigh, and pulled her close. "Sleep now, sweet."


	2. things you said at 1 am (Jack/Rosie reconciliation)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1930: Rosie has news for her former husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by firesign23. 
> 
> Tags: reconciliation, pregnancy, remarriage, friends to lovers

They spent hours talking after Rosie revealed what the doctor had said. After a hasty marriage in their youth to keep the baby from being illegitimate, and then having the poor girl born dead, and sixteen years of marriage after that without another sign of a pregnancy, they had given up wishing. But winter and spring of that year had been kind to them and to their rekindled friendship. Rosie was lonely, still healing, and Jack needed company. They had learned things about each other that the near-children they had once been had not taken the time to learn. That Rosie hated roses. Why Jack had stopped smoking. That they both liked the novels of Sir Walter Scott.

It had not been inevitable, that they should have taken each other to bed again. It had not been inevitable at all. But it had felt _right_ , the first time and the times after. And this... this felt right, to Rosie. Whatever came of it this time... it felt right.

The kitchen clock ticked to one in the morning. Rosie took Jack’s hand and held it in front of her on the table. She traced a fingertip over the creases and calluses of his palm. He bent his head to watch her. His eyes were lowered, half hidden under the tumbled locks of hair that never seemed to want to stay in place.

“I’d like us to get married,” he murmured.

“...Jack.” Rosie probed the soft web of skin between his thumb and forefinger. “You don't need to protect my honour.”

“You’re carrying our child. I—”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I have every faith in you, Rosie,” Jack said, his voice going gruff as he smiled. He closed his fingers gently around hers. “I know you don’t need me to protect you. I’m not offering to go back to what we were.”

She pushed his hair back slowly, revealing his eyes, and gasped softly. Jack Robinson had looked at her with desire, with fondness, with sadness and exasperation. But he had never looked at her with such... “Something new, then?” Rosie coaxed.

“I love you, Rosie,” he said, touching her cheek. “I want to marry you because we know one another now, at last. I know who you are. You know who I am. And... I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and our child, and whoever else comes along.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb as the tears began to spill down his face. “Please. Will you marry me?”

Rosie turned her head and brushed a kiss across his palm, and then leaned over and kissed his lips tenderly. “I will, Jack. Not because I have to,” she whispered, “but because I want you with me.” 

He let out a rough sound that was both laugh and sob, and kissed her hands and her face. “Come to bed, Rosemary... I need to hold you.”


	3. things you said while we were driving (Phryne/Jack)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1929: A conversation on the way home from a crime scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by firesign23.
> 
> Tags: post-S3, PTSD

“I wish you hadn’t come back,” Jack said, out of the blue, as Phryne was driving them both back to the station. The crime scene had been horrific, the smell somehow even worse, and everyone’s nerves, from hers to Jack’s right on down to the brand-new constable who looked all of sixteen years old, had been badly frayed. It was all Phryne could do not to burst into tears at Jack’s words. _How hideously unlike me. A drink, a bath, dancing until I drop, and then a beautiful young man... That’s what I need._

“Why’s that?” she asked lightly, taking a corner with far more deliberate care than she normally bothered with. “So I could’ve been spared the sight of that abattoir?”

“No,” said Jack bluntly. “So I could have spared myself.” He glanced at her briefly, met her eyes, and then looked away. “Watch the road, please, Miss Fisher. One bloodbath today is more than enough.”

Phryne drove on for another minute or two. “Come out with me tonight, Jack.”

“No, thank you.”

“It will be very discreet and respectable, I promise.”

“I appreciate your consideration, but discreet and respectable are the last things I need right now.”

“…What do you need?”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him open his mouth and then close it again. “A tubful of hot water and a glass of whisky. Or just a tubful of whisky.”

“I’m probably the worst person in the world to give this advice, but that might be a touch too much alcohol, Jack, especially considering that you haven’t eaten since this morning.” The road was becoming rutted and ill-kept, and her beloved racing car was complaining at the ill treatment. Phryne shifted gears and proceeded carefully, as much to spare her engine and coachwork as to give Jack one less thing to complain about. “All right, then, if you don’t care to go out dancing with me, then come for supper. Mr. Butler is always glad to cook for an appreciative gourmand such as yourself.”

That made Jack laugh. A low wry snort, but a laugh nevertheless. “You’re giving me far too much credit. I’ll still willingly eat army rations, if you put them in front of me.”

Phryne grimaced. “Never tell him that. In fact, I’ll do my best to forget I ever heard it. The sooner I forget about the hardtack at the front, the happier I’ll be. And I’d rather not think of your lovely mouth being anywhere _near_ an army ration.” 

“I said I’d eat them willingly, not that I’d enjoy them. Story of my army career, really…” Jack rubbed his fingers over his upper lip, a gesture Phryne recognized as a particularly nervous one. “I’ve seen so many brutal things since France… but these crime scenes, the bloody ones… they get to me.”

Carefully, Phryne reached over and laid a gloved hand gently on Jack’s knee. After a moment, he covered her hand with his own. 

They drove back to City South just like that. Phryne had a cramp in her neck for days after, but it was worth it.


	4. things you said that made me feel like shit (Jack/Bert)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some beers, a lover's tiff, and all's well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For omgimsarahtoo.
> 
> Tags: m/m, established relationship, clandestine relationship, arguments, beer, talking

“Ever thought about turning in your Party membership?” Jack asked one night, as they sat in his boarding house room, nursing bottles of beer.

An ashamed flush crept up the back of Bert’s neck. “Can't say that I have,” he lied, leaning back and scrubbing a hand through his blond hair. “Why d’you ask?”

Jack shrugged. “Just wondered. Doesn’t seem like you and the Reds have much in common, these days.”

“What, you think cuz I drive for Miss Fisher sometimes and let you roger me once a week I’m ignoring the party goals?”

“‘Let’?” Jack set his beer down very carefully and leveled a steady gaze that had Bert hard inside his trousers in three seconds. “If this is what you’re ‘letting’ me do, I wish you’d tell me what you _want_ me to do… or else tell me to clear off.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Bert retorted. But the flush was creeping up the front of his neck now, and onto his face. “Ain’t never once regretted… this, or asked for more. An’ exactly what’re you gettin’ at, Robinson?” he demanded, standing up so sharply that his chair tumbled over. “That you don’t want t’ dip yer wick in a commo anymore, so I should give up the party or clear off meself?”

Jack looked up at Bert with a bland expression. Slowly, he shook his head. “I never said that, Albert. All I did was ask the question.” He held Bert’s eyes and took a swig from his bottle. 

Bert gnawed furtively at his lower lip. “Sorry, mate,” he muttered, finally looking away. He bent to set the chair upright, but Jack caught his hand and pulled Bert into his lap.

“What is it?” Jack murmured, locked his arms around Bert’s waist. “Having doubts about the revolution?”

“I dunno. Maybe… or mebbe I’m just gettin’ old.”

“I’m older than you are, Albert.”

“Right, by a whole four years.” Bert grinned. “Ya geezer.”

“And as to me not wanting to ‘dip my wick’ in a commo anymore,” Jack continued, his voice dropping to a gravelly rumble and mouthing the words with the same wicked care Bert hoped he would soon lavish on him, “well, Albert… I have to confess, I invited you to my room so I could make indecent advances to you.”

“That so?” Bert twisted round and got his legs on either side of Jack’s waist, pressing his cock against Jack’s hard belly. “Cuz that’s how I like ‘em. The more indecent, the better.”


	5. things you said at 1 am (Phryne/Jack)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne comes home from a night with a lover. Jack is waiting up for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For firesign23. 
> 
> Tags: f/m, established relationship, open relationship, late night conversations, banter

Jack looked up from his book to see Phryne in the hall, shaking off her hat and cloche. “You’re home earlier than I expected. Did you have a nice time with... what was his name?”

“Jasper. And yes, it was a pleasant enough evening.” Phryne toed off her shoes and removed the book from Jack’s hands, and then slid into his lap. “Dinner, dancing... he really is a marvelous dancer. And then I ran into some women from the Adventurers’ Club in the hotel bar, made my apologies to Jasper, and ran off with them just as fast as I possibly could.”

“Why?” Jack frowned. “I thought you’d intended to go to bed with him.”

“Oh, I did. But he turned out to not be my type.”

“What, not beautiful enough for you?”

Phryne put her arms around Jack’s neck and looked at him with fond exasperation. “You still haven’t figured out my type, yet, I see.”

“Hmm... no, not really. Particularly when you seem to become temporarily enamored of all men, be they handsome or ill-favoured.”

“‘Ill-favoured.’ Jack, how delightfully Georgian. Have you been reading Jane Austen again?” 

He raised his eyebrows. “She’s always on my mind. As are you, damn you.” 

Phryne smiled and kissed him. For a long few moments, there was only silence. 

When she sat back, and settled herself more comfortably across Jack’s thighs, it was with an air of thoughtfulness that was entirely at odds with the hard-partying flapper image that she liked to project. “The men I take to bed are often beautiful. Some are ill-favoured, as you so quaintly express it. And some are dangerous, which I fully admit to you is part of the attraction. But the one thing I _never_ do, Jack, is fuck boring men.”

“And Jasper was boring.”

“Listening to Dot talk about knitting patterns is more exciting. He practically reached ‘silver toothpick case’ levels of inane. The Adventurers were a godsend.” She sighed. “And now I’m with you.”

Jack chuckled and threaded his fingers through her hair. “For reasons I still fail to fathom. Though at the very least I know I’m not ill-favoured.”

“Nor are you boring, Detective-Inspector.”

“No? With my oh-so-prosaic job and my Zane Gray novels and my gardening and my early nights, and my—mmm,” he hummed against Phryne’s lips. “Well,” he smiled. “And dangerous? Surely not.”

“You have your moments,” Phryne purred, toying with his unbuttoned shirt collar. 

That made him laugh a little. “Funny how whenever you come home from these liaisons, no matter how interesting the bloke might have been, you always end up talking about me. Are you trying to soothe my wounded pride, Miss Fisher?”

“The man of the night, Jack, is always a very brief subject. You, you are a topic for... in-depth study. And if I thought for one moment that you were uncomfortable with the idea of me taking another man to bed occasionally, let alone with talking about them... well. We wouldn’t be here, would we?”

Jack was silent, a small smile playing about his lips, of precisely the sort to quicken Phryne’s heart and arouse her curiosity. “Mac said something to me, while you were away in England. She said, ‘If people focused less on who was fucking whom, and concentrating instead on being decent human beings, this would be a better world.’”

“I’m glad to see she still has her idealistic moments,” said Phryne, brushing her thumb over Jack's lips. “She’s quite right, of course. Sometimes sex is just sex. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Very true. Although my preference is for the act to be meaningful. Which is why I’ve never felt tempted to look for another lover of my own, even though you’ve always extended the same respect and freedom to me as I do to you. No one affects me in quite the way that you do.” Jack held Phryne’s eyes with his and sucked gently at her thumb. “Besides, it’d be too much work.”


	6. things you said when you were scared (Phryne/Jack)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1929: The aftermath of a crime scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by firesign23. A follow-up to [Chapter 3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7138175/chapters/16807315).
> 
> Tags: post-S3, reflection, established relationship

The deep groan that Jack let out as he sank into the deep porcelain bathtub in Phryne's bedroom was something she wouldn't forget for a very long time. It wasn't merely the sound of relaxing after a long day; it was complete and utter weariness, the kind that settled into one's bones and didn't ever quite leave. She dragged a little brocade-covered footstool over behind the lacquered screen and perched on it, shrouded in her black silk dressing gown, her face washed clean of makeup and road dust, and studied Jack Robinson. 

His long legs and lean body were slightly distorted by the refraction of the water. His arms rested on the rim of the tub and his head hung limply back, his eyes closed. A few drops of water caught in his sparse chest hair, glinting like shards of glass. He had scars... an old gunshot wound on his bicep, clean white lines from slashing knives on his chest, a spray of shrapnel on his thigh. Little round marks, that she recognized as healed cigarette burns, on his forearms. There were gray hairs in the chestnut at his temples, and wrinkles around his eyes.

He was older than she was, Phryne remembered with a start, and not for the first time, either. Only by a few years, true, but they fell into lock-step over so many things that she sometimes forgot that either of them was mortal. Flippantly, she refused to believe it of herself... but reminders that Jack was only human terrified her.

Something in her throat contracted, and for a second or two, Phryne couldn't breathe, as her entire world contracted to nothing but the vulnerable man before her. 

She shook it off quickly – _we can't have **that**_ – and the moment was gone before Jack heaved a sigh and forced himself back to himself, but the fear lingered. "Is there anything you need?" Phryne asked, hoping her voice wasn't trembling as much as she thought it was. "I did promise you whisky and supper."

"Not yet." Jack reached up and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I'm sorry. I sometimes forget that I'm a broken old soldier, but there's no reason for you to have to put up with it."

Phryne snorted softly. "Well, that makes two of us. And I'm sure my demons are no better than yours." She covered her hand with her own. "We're quite the pair, Jack Robinson."

"Not quite a matched pair, I'm afraid."

"No. But then, no one's really a match for me, not even you." She grinned and kissed his hand, and then leaned forward to kiss his lips. "But you come closer than anyone else I've ever known."

His lips were gentle and urgent, and when they moved from her mouth to her throat, and she felt his wet hand tugging at the belt of her dressing gown, she let out a groan of her own, and relaxed into him.


	7. things you said with no space between us (Jack/Phryne/Rosie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne, Jack, and Rosie indulge in some mid-afternoon snuggling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by moocowmoocow. 
> 
> Tags: pregnancy, quiet conversation, snuggling, poly relationship

It was some time in the afternoon. There was a small clock on Phryne’s bedside table, but they were all far too comfortable at the moment to bother moving to check the time, or even to care very much, really. 

“This feels so strange,” Rosie murmured, her eyes closed. Then she corrected herself. “This feels like it _ought_ to be strange... but it’s not.”

“No,” Jack rumbled softly. He ran one lightly-callused palm over her stomach, as tenderly as though the child she was carrying was his own. She hadn’t yet told him who the father was – she wasn’t sure if she would ever work up the courage – but he hadn’t asked again and it almost seemed as though he didn’t much care. 

“Not in the least,” Phryne agreed with a smile, pressing more closely against Rosie’s bare back, and dropping a kiss on her shoulder. Certainly _Phryne_ didn’t care about her child’s parentage. She didn’t appear to find anything amiss about the situation at all, despite the undeniably unusual circumstances. Then again, Phryne was more used to unusual circumstances than either Rosie or Jack. Definitely more than Rosie. 

And yet, the uncertainty lingered. “And... you don't mind, Phryne? That I’m here, like this, with both of you?”

“Darling Rosie, why should I mind?”

“Why should either of us mind?” Jack asked, with a smile of incredibly gentleness.

Rosie swallowed a lump in her throat and stretched her neck up to kiss him hungrily. “Jack, you are positively unreal sometimes. And Phryne, you… well, I know your feelings on babies... on childbearing in general.”

“Those are my own feelings and have nothing you do with you.” Phryne wrapped her arms around Rosie, just under her breasts. “If I say you’re welcome in this bed, then you are.”

“Trust me,” Jack added, in his dry way, shifting even closer, “nothing good can come of arguing over who Miss Fisher lets into her bed.” 

Rosie laughed and snuggled down more securely between her two favorite people. She didn’t think she had ever felt as… as _safe_ as she did there in Phryne’s bed, with their arms around her and their bodies on either side.


	8. things you said after you kissed me (Rosie/Mac)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosie and Mac slip away from yet another charity ball...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by omgimsarahtoo.
> 
> Tags: implied sexual content, sex in public (almost), women in suits

The charity ball for the hospital was going well – such things tended to run very smoothly, where Mrs. Stanley was concerned – so much so that for once no one seemed to take much notice of Dr. MacMillan's unusual choice of attire (a raven-black evening suit cut absolutely to perfection, which outshone many of the male attendees that evening) or of her choice of companion for the evening. 

"I think they're getting used to us," Rosie murmured over a shared glass of very excellent champagne. She wasn't usually a fan of bubbly, but while Prudence Stanley had been in charge of most of the organization, her niece had taken care of the catering and the drinks, and Phryne did nothing by halves... certainly not alcohol.

"Even if the newspapers still haven't figured out what to call us," Mac agreed, eyes twinkling. "Sometimes it's 'friends', sometimes it's 'companions', and I think one of the Red papers has taken to calling you my 'lady friend'."

"Nice to know at least one reporter's paying attention," said Rosie dryly. "Thankfully Miss Charlesworth lets me write up my own account of these engagements, so Women's Choice can focus on the event itself rather than on whom its reporter took along as a date."

'Maybe if we ever managed to go anywhere else as a date, they'd all catch on that much more quickly. But our schedules being what they are..." Mac trailed off as the band struck up a lively, somewhat risqué tune. "Care for a dance, Miss Sanderson?"

"My, you are feeling daring tonight." Rosie finished her champagne and took Mac's hand with a smirk. "Dr. MacMillan, I would be delighted."

All the Melbourne newspapers were sure to be full of that story in the morning, but as neither Mac nor Rosie had much reputation left to worry about, they didn't bother. They danced, and danced, and danced some more, until the heat of the ballroom and the champagne coursing through their veins took a toll. 

"I had to get you off that dance floor and out of that crowd," Mac growled, pushing Rosie through the door and into the women's lav, which was mercifully empty of people. "Otherwise—" She framed Rosie's face in her hands and kissed her passionately. "Wouldn't want photos of that on the front pages tomorrow."

"No," Rosie agree, panting, "or of anything else you're about to do to me."

Mac barked out a hoarse laugh and swiftly maneuvered them into a cubicle. “I thought about wearing that device you like so much,” she murmured, pressing Rosie hard against the cubicle partition, “but it would have destroyed the line of my trousers.” 

“Oh, and that would—ah!” Rosie gasped and then bit her lip hard as Mac’s hand snuck beneath her skirt. “That would never do, would it?”

“Not after the amount I paid for this suit,” Mac replied, nipping at Rosie’s neck and pressing even closer.


End file.
